Sounds of Night
by Dellez
Summary: The River is cold and unyielding. Its secrets are many, and Taylor has not even begun to scratch the surface. Mistakes made force her hand, and she must journey faster and further than she ever dared. In Life, Armsmaster deals with the burdens of leadership while the city crumbles around him. Everyone and everything has a time to die. Set in the world of Worm.
1. The Girl in the Graveyard

The water was rougher than normal today, it's chill bite occasionally reaching up to her hips. She had to watch each wave as it approached her, it would take only one misstep and her travels would be undone. The ground underneath her offered only temporary safety, shifting and slipping away, as if recoiling from her presence. Each step was a challenge, but one she had accomplished before.

The River, as she had learned to call it, extended impossibly far to her and right, going just as far behind. Ahead, she had been told it ended, though she had never made it that far. There were changes along it, hazards more visually impressive than the treachery of the water. Careful navigation was required for each hazard, just as it was required for each step.

This region of the River was supposed to be only as deep as her knees, thanks to her tall stature. But this place was fickle, and things that were supposed to be were often not. She had planned a more roundabout journey through this area for today, but now she did not dare risk it. She would hasten towards her end goal, a waterfall as beautiful as it was dangerous.

She had planned on visiting the denizens of this place, those that were whole enough to talk and cautious enough not to fight her. Her path was the opposite of theirs, they came from downriver and most were not willing to risk their place. There was Harnook, who had spent countless ages here, unable to make the final step, and was always willing to trade information for some of her time. Grath, monstrous in appearance and mind, best to be avoided unless it had already fed. A clan that had banded together, with a new leader each time she came to them.

They did not matter today, unless _they_ sought her out. They could feel her, she knew, just as the mindless ones could. She was food to them, but there was always easier prey floating around. She adjusted her course to avoid the regular feeding grounds, places where bodies and beings slowed in their path. It was a shame, having to take a longer route, but the water that pulled at her, always, was not in her favor.

She could not see very far, a mist rose from the water, blocking her view of anything beyond some twenty feet. She had relied on her memory, once, but memories were fickle and misleading. Now she used the direction of the River, and the shape of the ground, which, if it wasn't trying to pull her into the water, was leading her into some other danger.

Most days, she had a guide, a subject of the waters, faithfully following the path chosen for it. Today, she had a cat that she had found wandering in her back yard. It had no collar, and was sickly thin. She had brought it with her, snapped its neck and thrown it in the water. Without her prodding, it would have gone the most direct route, the one she had chosen to avoid today. She used a stick to push it right, into the first new current.

The water fought her, each part of it was selfish and refused to give what had been given to it. The struggle was short, ended when the second current took hold of her guide and the first flowed back into position. She would continue to take the rightmost split at each new current, in case the currents merged back into one.

It was a strategy Harnook had told her, exchanging it for a mouse she had brought. He had asked for more, and he had come close to taking it for himself, but she held the advantage and he knew it. He was never satisfied with their bargains, she could see it in his eyes, but she was the only one that _would_ bargain with him. His energy was spent on maintaining his presence in this place, and so he was weaker than those who were willing to try that last step, weither or not they failed.

A wave crashed on her back, reaching high and touching her hair. She fell forward, catching herself with an extended leg. A second wave came, and her leg shuddered. Her arms fell forward, hands into the water, reaching for something to stabilize herself with. There was nothing, there never would be. She stood up, slowly and with caution, cradling her hands against her chest.

The water had a chill, colder than it had any right to be. It was another of the River's many dangers, and it seeped her strength out of her. There was only so long she could spend in this place until it started taking more than her strength. Too long, and she would be as Harnook, or perhaps Grath, was.

She had lost sight of her cat when she fell forwards, and had dropped the stick. The stick lay three arms length away, already caught in another current, speeding away from her. There would be no getting it back. Mercifully, her guide remained but a few paces ahead of her, faithful to the last. She took careful steps, catching up as it continued its journey.

Perhaps she should turn back, come again some other day. But she so rarely had the opportunity that she was loathe to waste it. Her father worried whenever she went out on her own, she could not imagine what he would think if he knew of this. She put her hands into the pocket of her sweater, they could dry there. She felt the rat she had brought, currency for Harnook, or a distraction for others.

She followed her guide, and regretted the loss of her stick. She wasn't willing to risk using her own limbs to move the cat at each split in the current. One unexpected wave or eddy and she would lose her footing. There would be no climbing out of the water once she fell in fully. She could only hope that she was far enough from the main current that she would avoid the mindless feeders.

Another peculiarity of this place was the sound. Until she made a noise, willingly or by mistake, she would only hear the River. What defined a sound she had made, as opposed to one made by the water, remained ambiguous to her. Here, she only heard the roar of the waterfall. There was an advantage to this, a rare occurrence in the River. She could always tell if she was getting closer to the waterfall, and how quickly she was approaching. She would not, however, hear the approach of another being, or the crashing waves around her.

It was a trade-off she accepted today and on most other days. When the water was low, she was careful to keep her feet inside the water, each step taken in silence. Today, she didn't have that choice. When her hands fell to the water, they did so without splashing, and so without sound.

She could tell that she hadn't made much progress, too much time spent taking branches, not enough time spent walking forward. That should change now that her guide could only follow the current. It always took her at least two hours of walking to reach the waterfall, today she had added a half hour in her caution.

Until she reached the waterfall, there wasn't anything to see in the River, only mist and a grey sky. So she focused on the cat and on the ground. The water itself was clear, affording her some forewarning for each dip or ridge in the floor.

She felt something tugging at her ankle, different from the eddys and pulls of the water. A string, she realized slowly, that she had tied as a connection to the other world. She had placed protections on her form there, a diamond shaped barrier. It was being attacked, or prodded, it was impossible to tell. If it continued, she would only have to follow the string back to her other form.

It stopped after a few minutes, her barrier still intact. Whatever it was had given up. She set to resume her walk, but she stopped before she started. In her distraction, her guide had left her for its own devices, and it was unlikely that she would catch up to it. With a mental curse, she pulled the rat from her sweater, and set it into the water.

It was another risk, placing something fresh this far into the River. It would attract things she would rather not deal with. Once again, she thought of turning back. Whatever it was that had prodded her barrier may come back, and her new guide brought new dangers. Once again, she decided against it, she had been in worse situations before.

The rat led her just as the cat had, following the current she had placed it in. It moved faster than the cat, and she struggled to keep pace. Waves pushed it further and further ahead, just as they pushed against her, but she was not free to float along as the rat was. She didn't know how long she kept up, but her longs were beginning to burn and her legs beginning to tire. She could hear the waterfall getting louder, it droned and pounded against her ears. She was closer than she had thought.

Her relief was short-lived, however, as the waves pulled her guide out of view. She stopped, and realized she could hear her ragged breaths. Somewhere, she had made a mistake. More than her breaths, she could her the splashes of water that signalled something approaching. She heard this even above the noise of the waterfall, which meant that whatever it was was close.

There was no hiding in the River, not when faced by one of its inhabitants. A traveller, like herself, she could have hidden from, but no traveller would be so careless with its steps and sounds. As quickly as she could, she swung her backpack around, and opened it. She had put a knife in there somewhere, hidden amongst all the clothes she had used as padding to stop various other objects from hitting each other.

She found her knife when she cut her hand on its edge. She pulled it out with her other hand, doing her best to not let any of her blood fall into the River. The image she had of a shark circling its prey was not inaccurate. Just as a shark might be attracted to blood, so too would the feeders be attracted to her life. Her knife had runes marked into its blade, and one on the handle. Marks of the Charter, that spoke of power and strength. Recent additions, ones that she had never tried.

She could hear more than one thing approaching now, from the other side. Had she noticed them before, she could have left this place without worry, but that was part of the danger of listening to the waterfall. Now, they were too close to safely open a door back to the other world, back to life. They would follow her, or if they were servants, keep the door open until something far stronger found its way through. It had been the first thing she had learnt about this place, she could always open a door, but could not always close it.

She could see their figures in the mist, shadows larger than she was, by half. Feeders didn't get that large, not unless they had gathered the strength to break into life. They came fully into view, and she could see that they were not feeders, they were of the Clan.

"Hail," she greeted them, with a small wave of her bloodied hand.

"You should not be here, girl," one of them said, its voice harsh and broken. "You were warned, the last time, not to come back."

She _had_ been warned by their leader at the time, likely gone now. "I had no intention of coming here, the River led me astray."

The other one spoke, "The River brought you to us, then. Pay tribute and we will let you pass."

She was going to tell them that she had lost all that she could have payed with, when she felt the tugging on her ankle. It was stronger this time, something was making a concerted effort to break the diamond. "I have naught to offer, the gift I had brought was taken by the river."

"You would offer another of your guides?" The first said. "Tokens of good faith to our leader, he accepts them. We want something more _substantial_." He pointed at her hand, blood trickling through her fingers. "You waste it, you would hardly miss it."

Doubtless he hoped to trick her, once he was close he would not stop at a taste of her blood. "My life is my own to do as I wish, and I give it to the River." She hoped it sounded impressive. The Clan was inclined to pageantry as well as betrayal. "I will turn back, I have lost my way anyhow."

"Something else, then." The second said. "That knife you hide there, or the instrument you always bring. A gift to present to our leader, along with you."

She had no intention of speaking with whoever led the clan now, and they had no intention of letting her walk away. The string kept pulling at her ankle, digging into it. "I will leave, you can tell-" and the string snapped. She had no choice now. She fell backwards, but did not touch the water.

* * *

Today was supposed to be a day of relaxation, as Assault had put it. For Armsmaster, however, it was supposed to be a day to work on a variety of projects that he had neglected over the past few weeks. There was no promotional appearance scheduled, no departmental meeting, and the gangs had were back to the planning stages of whatever crimes they would commit.

It was when Assault and Battery had been called to help with a fire that Armsmaster knew he wouldn't be spending the day in his lab. He didn't mind as much as some of the others did, but it still irritated him that they didn't have the resources necessary to allow for a moment's rest.

He spent the morning dealing with police officers trying to offload their responsibilities to the Parahumans. Break-ins were trumped up as super-powered robberies, an assault was attributed to a mysterious figure in the shadows. They bore looking in to, but he doubted they would turn up anything, and in a week the officers would get their reports back. Wasting time.

At noon, he was called to a graveyard in the northwestern quadrant of the city. He had never been here, nor had he been called to a graveyard in any official capacity. It was a novelty he found no joy in. There were two officers waiting for him at the entrance, leaning against a stone wall.

They explained the situation to him, there was someone sleeping in the graveyard. That had almost been enough to make him leave in fury, but they continued quickly. There was a force field around them, stopping anyone from getting close. Perhaps the first interesting thing of the day. He asked questions of them, what had they tried to breach the barrier? was it permeable to inorganic materials? how long had the person been there? Their answers were useless, but he recored them anyway.

They pointed the way to the situation, and he told them to leave. The last thing he needed was two extra bodies he had to worry about in case the person turned violent. The person, it turned out, was a teenage girl. Somewhere between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, he guessed. One of the Wards or other heroes could have narrowed it down further, but it hardly mattered.

The girl was leaning against a headstone, and he did his best not to read the name upon it. She was sitting cross legged, with her arms folded in a girl wore a hood, but it didn't cover her face. If he saw her again in the city, there was no doubt he would recognize her. Troublesome, but not entirely unprecedented. The Protectorate was often the first to respond to a new parahuman, and that involved civillian identities.

He was stopped from approaching the girl by a force field, as the officers had described. Four feet from the girl, but not in a circle around her. There were four walls, each impassable, arranged in a diamond pattern. He tried pushing his arm through it, with the full force of his powered suit, to no avail. Next, he tossed a stone at one of the walls. It bounced off, as he had expected.

There was a whole slew of tests that the Protectorate tried with force fields, but he did not have the patience or the resources to perform them here. Were the rest of his team not out dealing with other problems, he might have called one of them in to assist him. The girl was asleep, he could afford to wait. He could easily do it, all he had to do was give a command to his helmet, and someone would come eventually, but still he hesitated.

There wasn't much to the situation, it wasn't worth having two of the limited number of heroes in the city dealing with it. He wasn't even sure it warranted one. He opened his communication channels, if a new situation arose and the girl still hadn't woken or he hadn't broken the barrier, he would leave to deal with it.

So he set himself to testing the barrier with his limited resources. A stick was just as useless as a stone, as was a sonic blast from his halberd. Air passed through perfectly well, he determined. It extended at least four inches below ground, likely more. He tried swinging his halberd, and he imagined the headlines. _Local Hero Attacks Defenceless Teen._ Or _No Regrets Over Unprovoked Assault, Armsmaster Says._ It was on his second swing that he noticed something. A sheen to the barrier, where he had connected with his weapon.

His helmet played the situation back to him, and when the halberd struck, the whole wall lit up in a white glow for just an instant. Progress, he hoped. Was it weakening, or was this just what it did? There was more than one way to find out, but he knew the way he would use. He swung at the barrier with full force, and he swung again, and again. Each time, the barrier's glow took longer and longer to dissipate, but each time he was repelled.

With each strike, his confidence grew, until finally he swung and there was no resistance, no force to stop his halberd from splitting the ground in front of the girl. He pulled it out with practiced ease, and set it to its most harmless form. Still lethal and effective in his hands, but he was told it looked far less threatening.

Only then did he notice that the girl was awake, with a knife in hand. Her eyes were wide, staring right at him. The knife looked like nothing more than a switchblade, so he made the decision to put his halberd away entirely. "Are we to fight?" She asked. Was that the impression he had given? She stood, and he backed away, beyond where the barrier once stood.

"Of course not." What has his intention been, then? To break the barrier for the sake of it? No. "I just wanted to have a conversation." There was blood on her hand, had she cut herself with the knife? There were parahumans whose powers were tied to blood, usually villains, usually quite deadly.

"Speak quickly then, and plainly," she said. "There are other matters that need my attention."

He felt that he always spoke plainly, so he did. "How long have you had your abilities?" It wasn't usually the first question asked to new parahumans, but usually they had this sort of information already.

Despite her request, she hardly answered the question. "Since I was young." She was fidgeting with the knife, waving it about in the air.

"Is this the first time you've come to this graveyard? I was called because the other visitors thought you were a runaway." She hesitated in her answer, so he moved on. "Please, put the knife away. No one's fighting today."

She stopped toying with the blade, and gave him a hard look. "The diamond must be undone in proper order. If you'll let me continue, I will fix the damage you have wrought." Armsmaster nodded, curious to see what she would do. She spun her knife in a careful pattern, he could see now. Circles then lines, or the reverse. She worked in silence, though he could see her grimacing from the pain in her hand.

After a few minutes of this, she spoke. "You may wish to leave, or to step back, the north wind is not kind to your work." She did not wait for a response, pointing the knife at the ground. A stream of light, similarly coloured to the sheen he had seen in the barrier, poured out from tool and to the ground. She moved it slowly along where her wall had once been

She finished quickly enough for his liking, and he wished to test her work. She stopped him with a word, "Don't. It is weak, only made to be unmade." She moved around the headstone, to where he had determined the barrier extended. She walked clockwise on the inner side of her wall, and he could see it shimmer as it disappeared.

"Do you have a cape name? Others are going to ask who I was speaking to, they're going to want a report." This was only partially true, new parahumans often went without names until they interacted with the public. As far as he was concerned, this was public enough.

"I have not yet earned my title, nor have I found it." An unsatisfying answer as they came, but not unexpected. She put the knife back into her sweater, and pressed her hand onto her leg.

"Do you need any help? I have a first aid kit on my motorcycle." She was ready to leave, he knew, and this would hopefully extend the conversation.

"It will heal quickly, but thank you," she said. "Is there some sort of… protocol if I wish to spend my time here? I had not thought that my presence would bother anyone."

He pulled out a card from a compartment in his armour. "I can't guarantee you won't be disturbed by anyone, but this should help. The number goes directly to a human responder, just tell them where you'll be. If the police call us, they'll be told to leave. The extension on the back is for my phone, do not use it unless you are in danger." He had given quite a few of these cards out to parahumans over the years, and he had never once been called.

She took it, and went around him without so much as a good day. He wondered once again if he should have called in someone from his team, they were unilaterally better with non-violent situations than he was. There was no use dwelling on it, so he thought of other things. The girl would be assigned a number by the automated system, and a file would be created. His recording of the conversation would go into the file, as would his report.

He watched her leave, and once she was out of sight he examined the scene. There were clear lines on the ground, were the barrier had been, no traces of blood. He could not yet be sure if her blood was a catalyst or merely an accident. Her knife had been the source of the beam she had cast, but it had been coated in enough of her blood that nothing could be determined.

She had left nothing behind, hardly even an imprint in the grass where she sat. The gravestone was old, and he finally decided to look at the name. It was already in his visual recording, whoever went looking would be able to find it. It dated back fifty years, before parahumans even existed. He didn't recognize the name, hardly surprising. There was no inscription, only _Michael Callaway_. A relation, or a grave chosen at random?

It was not his place to ask that question, or anyone's place. There was nothing more to be gained here, so he left.


	2. Across the City

It was past noon, but not so far that any undead would risk walking into the daylight. Taylor left the graveyard slowly, there was no reason to rush. She could feel the door she had opened, kept open by the two Clansmen. The walls between the two worlds were thin at the graveyard, it was why she had chosen it, and it would be an easy task to hold the door. Whatever would come from the River would come later, likely at sunset.

The sun was bright, without a single cloud to block its light. The air was cool, but not supernaturally so. She could spend the rest of her day walking, or she could go back to class. An easy choice, had her father not warned her about skipping more classes. But she had already broken her promise this day, she may as well make the most of it.

There was a bus that would take her to a nicer part of the city, she knew, but it would not be arriving for some time. She would walk to the shore, steering clear of the docks where her father worked. The shore always held the promise of safety and reassurance, it was an irony not lost to her that the undead hated flowing water. Perhaps all the time spent in the River soured them to it.

Buildings were sparse in this area of the city, a mixture of run-down houses and long abandoned industrial factories. Manufacturing had been the first industry to leave Brockton Bay, and it had never returned. The shadows each building cast were small, there would be no space for any undead to hide from the midday sun.

Inside the buildings, there could be anything. They were abandoned only by the city and by the wealthy folk who had long since moved to nicer suburbs. Any one of these buildings could be home to a drug den, or a gang hide-out, or a super villain lair. But that wasn't her problem, never would be.

As she walked closer and closer to the bay side, the buildings became whole again. Full of life and laughter, it warmed her spirits. It didn't last long, as she heard the roar of a motorcycle approach then pass her by. Armsmaster.

Had he not interfered, she would have dealt with the situation and completed her goal for the day. She had had control of the situation. Had she known it was him that came knocking on her diamond, she would have continued on. It was annoying, more than annoying, that she wasn't able to continue, and that she wouldn't be able to use that graveyard again.

She fingered the card in her sweater pocket. The promise of PRT agents watching her as she travelled was unwelcome. She had managed so far on her own. She would have to be more discrete, no more open spaces. Maybe she would return to using pets as both a guide and a door, as she had done in her youth. That had raised its own questions, but not ones asked by the local heroes.

There were always other options, she could leave the new Snowballs and Pumpkins as a fallback. Those same factories and storehouses that she had walked by had seen enough death in their time that one would surely have a passage. Hospitals were the same, and likely safer. Farther away, though, but if she was willing to miss a whole school day to go to a graveyard, she could do the same with a hospital.

She came to the docks, and the sounds of water drew her out of her musings. She was somewhere north of the Boardwalk. She had been there only rarely, the shops were all beyond her means. Out in the bay, quite a distance away, was the local Protectorate headquarters, home to Armsmaster and his squad.

She reckoned it was around two in the afternoon, late enough that she could walk back to her home and be there around the time she usually came home from school. The busybodies of the neighbourhood weren't shy about telling her father if she came home early. She had thought to stay longer, here by the water, but it did not bring that feeling of comfort she thought it would.

The bay would only protect her if she dived into it, anything else was useless. The doubts at the back of her mind came to the fore, would whatever came to this world hunt her down? She could not protect herself forever. She had managed to travel so far in the River by being _not worth the effort_ , there was always something else to go after.

It would be the same in Life, rational thought said. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that someone would die by another's actions. She was the medium, surely, but it was Armsmaster's doing, his untimely intrusion. It might be her, or it might be the first person encountered. The heroes of the city could handle it, they had to, but not before there were losses.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. At the Clansmen, at the river, and at Armsmaster. When she finally arrive home, she threw her backpack onto the stairs, immediately regretting her action. She had put the knife in there, and more besides. Her most valuable possessions.

She collapsed into a sofa in front of the television, suddenly tired from a day spent walking. She spent some time flicking through the channels before finally settling on news, it suited her as background noise. There had been a robbery downtown, while she was walking. Parahuman involvement was likely, but not confirmed.

There were shots of a black smoke that drifted through the streets, and vague silhouettes emerging from it. Miss Militia had answered a few questions, reassuring the public, after which a PRT representative blathered on about safety procedures and other nonsense. Taylor snorted, Armsmaster had spent his time with her instead of stopping an actual crime.

She washed her bloodied hand while listening, and prepared herself a meal, one for her father once he came home. The television continued, no injuries had been reported, potential suspects and their ties to the local crime scene. She ate back on the sofa, only vaguely interested in her meal or the crime. The channel had an expert for these situations, and he determined that the most likely suspect was some villain who hadn't been seen in at least three years.

The segment ended with an official statement from Armsmaster and the local PRT. He had been _dealing with a potentially volatile parahuman across the city._ Taylor left her living room, plate and glass in hand. Who was he to judge her, when he had attacked first? When he had cost her so much? Her dishes became shards of glass and ceramic on the ground.

She cleaned the kitchen silently, and there was a call on the phone. An automated message from her school, Winslow. She hung up, and removed the call from the cordless' history. Her job done, she went to her room, grabbing her bag along the way. Carefully, she removed the knife. Her hand still ached, but that was hardly a comparison to what would come.

Taking the knife in her off hand, she slowly carved a Mark of healing into her hand, teeth clenched. She did not know why it had to be this way, there were other Marks that she could whistle or draw in the air, overlapping in purpose. Slowly, both the mark and the cut faded away, and she flexed her hand. Good enough.

Only then did she draw more things from her bag. Her knife was a thing of blood and pain, but the other objects weren't to be exposed to such things. A journal, full of charter marks she knew, failed spells and projects. A sheet of paper, rolled up, with the only chain of marks she had gotten to work. It spoke of fire and flame, but it was weak, only enough to warm her on a cold day.

Finally she drew her mother's flute, much changed in the years she had owned it. Charter marks were carved along its length, each one worth a week's work. She could no longer decipher the meaning, but each one flowed from the next. It was a story that she had forgotten, told to her long ago. The last rune had been finished no less than three days ago, and she had meant to complete it in the waterfall on this day.

It could wait another week, while she worked out a new scroll to heat it. She had only gone today in the vain hope that it would come to her during her journey, as was often the case. Things such as this were remembered when needed, they weighed on the mind otherwise.

It was frustrating to look at her flute, and the work she had done, and only being able to see the individual marking. Many were variations on sound; song, tone, tune, softly, sing, while others were of power, person and death. More than frustration, it worried her, this thing she had created. But she would see it through, if only in her mother's memory.

She put the flute back into its case, and ate her food. Her father would be home soon, and it was best if she was doing schoolwork when that happened. He had found her notebook once, when it only had a few pages filled. He hadn't known what it was, thought it was only meaningless scribbles. She knew then that she couldn't share her work with him.

There was at least one other out there that knew the Charter. Marks left on walls, lights in the sky, the work of one man or many no one could tell. But they were always violent in nature, and as wild as the Charter could be. There had been a desire to meet whoever this person was, but as she learned, it had faded away until it was replaced by apprehension and suspicion.

* * *

His helmet's communicator had broken, sometime between his arrival at the graveyard and his departure from Callaway's grave. He hurried back to his motorcycle, it held a spare and he was loathe to be without it. He took it from its place in the center of the handles, and carefully attached it to the inside of his helmet. It was an old model, from years ago that he had never gotten around to replacing.

The channels were all active. He had missed something. He took only a moment to curse before announcing himself to his team. "Armsmaster reporting in, what happened?"

"Where are y-" that would have been Assault, always quick to respond, but not very helpful.

"Suspects fleeing north along fifth, just past Haven street. Four unidentified parahumans, mounted on horse sized beasts," Miss Militia could always be relied on, it was why she was second in command.

"Moving to intercept," Armsmaster responded. This was what he lived for, everything he had dedicated his life to. "Any advisory warnings?"

"One of them creates dark fog or smoke. No idea about the others."

His bike was fast, and he handled it with years worth of experience. Cars pulled to the side for him, and pedestrians gawked. Most of them. He went by the girl, fast enough that he almost missed her. She was clutching her wounded hand to her chest and walking slowly. She said no to his offer of help, and she was reaping her consequences, and he his.

"They've turned west onto Parker." And after a moment, "Fog's filling up the area, visual lost."

It was still minutes away. He turned his mic off, he wouldn't have anything to contribute for some time. Miss Militia and Assault traded information. Battery was south, farther away than he was. The rest of his team were in other channels, dealing with their own situations. Important enough to be ignoring this, or they would be hearing from him.

When he could see the smoke, he turned his microphone back on. In truth, the dark mass didn't resemble smoke or fog, but a black cloud blanketing the ground all the way up to the second story of some buildings. It moved and swayed with the wind, or at least it appeared to. Assault and Miss Militia had chosen not to go in, they were on the east side of the cloud keeping a careful eye on the streets.

He did the same, and advised Battery on which streets were worth watching. He used his authority to call in a police helicopter, it would be much more useful than any one of them.

They waited for the cloud to dissipate, over ten minutes of watching for any sign of beasts or costumed villains. People ran out from the darkness, but they were all dressed in civilian clothes. He wished for more autonomy in cases like these, they should have cordoned off the whole area, and brought anyone leaving in for questioning.

When the darkness finally vanished, there weren't beasts or villains. There were car accidents and terrified citizens, as was so often the case.

* * *

"Where the fuck were you? You say you're available for anything that comes up, and then you don't fucking answer when we need you?" Assault was practically screaming, leaning forward over the table that they all sat around.

"Sit down and be quiet," Armsmaster said. "Miss Militia, do you have a preliminary report?"

She set the papers that she had been reading down and spoke quickly. "Four individuals, only one of which is confirmed to be a parahuman, robbed Zale's, 308 Main street. This occurred at approximately quarter till one. Assault and I arrived within ten minutes, while the persons were still inside. We were delayed long enough by two of the beasts for them to get away on two others.

"We believe that one of them is Grue. Description of attire and power match what we saw today. He is a mercenary, but only in the, ah, most technical term. He's popped up as a guard in some of the clubs we've shut down in the past few months. Some legal work, too, according to the file. Nothing of this sort, before.

"The other three were wearing masks, indicating a high chance of parahuman abilities. The beasts were likely controlled by the one with the dog mask."

Assault snorted, and the others turned to look at him. "Seems a bit obvious, eh? One of them was doing something to mess with me, I was missing an awful lot. Miss Militia was, too, even is she doesn't want to speculate."

Armsmaster had little patience for interruptions, but it was good information. "Something to keep in mind. Any insights into whichever happens to be the last one?" No one did, and all he could do was give a frustrated sigh. "Ideas on how to deal with them when they strike again?"

"The smoke blocks sight and sound, as well as communication devices. Easy to lose track of each other in there. It reacts to the environment, so we may be able to use that."

"Think you can whip up a giant fan, boss?" Assault grinned at him, then at Battery. He had even less patience for their romance.

"I'll look into it, but it would be terribly unwieldy and quite the eyesore. An attachment for vehicles, maybe, if they prove to be worth the effort," he mused. He waited, long enough that the others weren't sure if he was serious or not. Eventually he smiled and Assault let out a laugh, while the others had smiles of various degrees. Humor was a welcome treat when their lives were dominated by seriousness and violence. "How hardy were the beasts? You said two of them managed to delay both of you."

Miss Militia was the first of the two to speak, after Assault hesitated. "It's hard to say how many of my shots hit, if what Assault said is true. Nothing had an effect, and I thought it best not to use heavier weapons."

"A good decision until we know more. Assault?"

"They're tough as shit, that's for sure. Mean enough to match, too. They wouldn't stay down when I managed to hit them. If they were people, they'd be Brutes. Maybe they are people."

"Alright. If any of you encounter this group again, call for reinforcements, but do not engage unless they are attacking others or property. Expand the search for potential matches to the anything east of Chicago. I'll relay this to the Wards as well. We're done, unless anyone has anything else to add."

Dauntless and Miss Militia left the room almost instantly, they were the two on duty at this time. "You aren't going to tell us what you were doing?" Dauntless and Miss Militia performed their work well and without question, but Assault would always raise problems.

"Dealing with a new and potentially dangerous parahuman."

"Don't give me that bullshit. If they were dangerous, you would have called in. Unless you thought you could handle it." There was mockery in his voice, and Armsmaster responded coldly.

"Parameters changed after I made that call. If you want more, I suggest you read the report after I file it." The conversation was done, and he headed right to his lab. He avoided the cold eyes of the Director, those that spent the whole meeting judging him.

* * *

He had misjudged the damage to his helmet. The entirety of the wiring within was fried beyond repair, and the electronics didn't look much better off. He had discovered this when he tried to access the internal storage, to review his interactions with the girl.

There had been nothing that would cause this, not with all his safeguards. He tried again and again to salvage _anything_ from this pile of scrap. Each time he failed, his frustration grew, until he threw his helmet against the nearest wall. It was worthless as anything other than a paperweight, he would have to remake the whole thing.

In the meantime he had a report to make, without the benefit of audio visual recordings. The general proceedings were easy, he had been called to investigate a disturbance in the graveyard. The girl had been surrounded by some sort of forcefield, which yielded when pressured repeatedly.

The girl and he had spoken, and it was here that he faltered. He could describe her appearance well enough; tall for her gender, long, dark hair, simple glasses, and thin lips. Her figure had been hidden under baggy clothing, but her fingers were long and thin, which might be indicative.

She had no name, but her powers weren't new. A visitor to the city? Somehow, he doubted it. He had seen her walking, slowly but with purpose. Was there anything more to their talk? She said her wound would heal quickly. A boast, or part of her power? He was inclined to believe the latter, but without proof it was only speculation

Her barrier had been effective, and she had to fix it before she removed the whole thing. Many parahumans had neurosis, she might have to work in patterns. The etchings that had been on her knife might fit into that. He did his best to draw some of them, but art had never been one of his skills. He ended up with lines randomly arranged inside circles, which seemed good enough.

His armour was thankfully undamaged, and so he reviewed the recording of his movement. It told him how much force he had applied to the barrier, and he put this in the file. It might be for the best that his other files were gone, knowing details about secret identities rarely worked out in anyone's favor.

He set the paperwork aside and began gathering materials for his helmet. As he was doing this, he remembered another thing she had said. _The north wind is not kind to your work._ He had taken it as incoherent babble from a girl that wasn't entirely there. The north wind meant nothing to him, but his work had a clear interpretation.

He seethed. The chance of some random critical failure disappeared. She had done this. Or she knew it would happen. There was little difference, He went back to the papers and slowly added that the girl was anathema to Tinker technology.

Anti-technologists were not unheard of, and he did his best to avoid them. This girl had undone days of work, spread over years. He had put more thought into that helmet than into some villains.

There was nothing he could in retribution for his loss. The others wouldn't understand how much it had cost him, only that he would have to use his power again. It came easy for them, just think about using your power and it happened. If he asked them, they would acknowledge that he spent time on his devices, but that was far from understanding.

There was someone who did understand, though. And as much as he tried to ignore it, she was always watching. A short message typed into his lab computer, and a few minutes wait.

"How are you, Armsmaster?" The voice, Dragon's, came from his computer's speakers. She was called the greatest Tinker in the world, and on most topics she lived up to it. He had never given her access to his lab, but she had it regardless. She gave excuses, security and peace of mind, but she never truly left. In truth, he often enjoyed her insights and advice.

"Well enough. I suggest you look through my report," he said. "There are some concerning elements." A voice in the back of his mind said he should have spent more time on pleasantries, but he ignored it. He didn't have to wait long before Dragon spoke again.

"Yes, biological connections to powers can often be unpredictable. But you wrote that the connection between her power and blood was only a possibility." Was she ignoring the problem to rile him, or because she didn't see it as an issue.

"That's not what I meant. She fried my helmet, and I never even suspected." His voice was hot with anger, and he had no doubt that Dragon noticed.

"There are others out there, you know that. Just apply the standard procedures. If she turns violent, let someone else do the heavy lifting. Battery, or Velocity, or Dauntless." He gave his computer a glare. He was regretting his decision to call her.

"Yes, thank you. I am aware of what to do," he said after a moment. "That will be all."

"Really? I can help you with a new helmet. I've been studying some of your earlier designs, and I think I have a couple of suggestions. If you're willing to add a bit of bulk, that is."

It was the wrong thing for her to say, and his respond was curt. "I can handle it." He closed the program she had opened from across the continent. If she wanted to, she could reopen it and override his control of his own systems. She didn't, and he sank into a silence that lasted for the rest of his day.


End file.
